


One Big Crossover

by Damien_Reid



Category: Common Law, Graceland, Suits (TV), Underworld (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Minor Character Death, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, very minor James D'Arcy/Ben Whishaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damien_Reid/pseuds/Damien_Reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title says it all really.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(This has stacks of characters, sometimes talking all at once.<br/>Beware!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Graceland Gets a Visit

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely apologize if, at any point, the dialogue becomes complete and utter dribble. I’m really not good with beans and their speech patterns (I’m a poet for god’s sake!).
> 
> Cheers.

2205 and Briggs is alone in the kitchen having a quiet dinner. The kids are out at the bar, trying to get Mike an easy hook-up after a long day at work, so, it’s dead silent, and then—

There’s a sound upstairs, minute like the creak of a floorboard in a too-big house. It’s the kind of small Paul would never notice with the kids around, but they aren’t; they’re out and Graceland is supposed to be empty. So, who’s upstairs?

Briggs creeps up the steps at an easy pace, as quiet as possible. Despite the glass walls and full moon, the hall is still dark, but in the space where the shadows are more romantic than ominous. He keeps to the walls, hidden from prying eyes and well-tuned ears, testing doors and minding corners.

He has his gun out— cocked, aimed, and ready. There’s a flash of straight, black hair through the half- open door of Mike’s room. Briggs moves slowly, pushes the door open wider, watches the intruder— a woman— shift in the moonlight, searching for something. Briggs centers in on the back of her head.

“Put your hands up and turn around, slowly.”  The woman— no, more like a girl— does what Paul says, looks directly at him with the same blue eyes as Mike, and then she’s a swift-moving blur. Like a mirage, she flickers out of sight. Too-quick steps have her at the open window. He blinks; she’s gone.

He moves to follow but it’s too late, she’s too fast. She’s away on the wind, vanished like faulty memories. He thinks back and maybe recalls the flash of a folder in her hands.

He bolts from the room, down the stairs, out the front door: nothing. Not even the trace of a trace.

He heads back inside, looks around the scene-of-the-crime. There’s a white paper rose on the corner of the bed, a bit of writing in blue ink is barely visible. He snatches it up and unfolds it into a crumpled sheet, thin and almost translucent. It says:

‘Michael,

We ran here.’

He puts it down and gets his phone out, making a call to Mike.

 

Half-an-hour later Mike runs in looking harried.

“I’ve been robbed?!” He cries.

“That’s what I said.” Briggs huffs, feeling sorry for the kid but not enough to indulge his antics.

“Well— I mean, did you see who it was? What did they take?”

“I dunno. It was some girl; I think she took a folder.” Mike pales at this, visibly.

“Wh—which—what folder?”

“A folder, Mike. Blue, made of paper, filled with paper: a folder.”

“Oh, no. What did she look like?”

“A girl, Mike: skinny, black hair, blue eyes, short. She left a note, folded it up like a rose.” Briggs shrugs.

“Wait— blue eyes, black hair? Like—” and here, Mike pulls out his wallet and wrenches out a photo.

“This? This girl?” Paul looks down at the picture in Mike’s hand: nine tiny, half-smiling people in party clothes on a rooftop in a big city. It’s nighttime and little twinkling lights in the background blur the faces but, yeah, it’s her. She’s a little younger and a little drunker, but she’s the same girl he pointed a gun at just minutes ago (though in the photo she’s wedged between Mike and some older guy and they both have their arms around her and others’ waists and Paul’s damned if it doesn’t make him a little jealous).

“Yeah, I figured you’d know her.” Paul says, passing Mike the note. Mike reads it and face-palms.

“A phone call. Is it too much to ask for just a simple phone call or an e-mail or a text? Why is it always this?”

“She a friend of yours?”

“Yeah, you could say that. I gotta go, don’t worry if I’m late coming back.” And just like that Mike’s gone, too.

 

Mike takes his time getting there. He drives the speed-limit, stops at every stop-sign, and brakes for pedestrians. He pulls into the car park and shakes his head the second he sees her. They’re just a mile away from the Hollywood sign where they went jogging once, the first time they’d been to California.

A plain black jumper over black trousers and black trainers. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders and she smiles a little, the slightest bit of cheek shining through in her blue, blue eyes.

“You’re so slow.” She laughs.

“You wrecked my room and left me a rose. My roommate could have killed you.” He shakes his head but he’s laughing too.

“I was just having a little fun. I could’ve been miles away before your friend even pulled the trigger.”

“Wait, he really pointed a gun at you?”

“He did indeed. Cold like James Bond.” She says fondly.

“Or Simon Cowell.” He says to cut her down.

“Where’s David? I thought he was keeping an eye on you.” He adds, curious.

“He tries. He might be older but I’m wiser.” She replies, unthwarted.

“Yes, very clever. Why did you break into my room and steal the files I have on Briggs?”

“Don’t get mad; I’m helping you.” She turns and reaches into her car for the folder.

“If I could find it, he could too. You need a better hiding place.” She shoots, handing them to him.

“How did you even know about it?”

“Peter told me. So, you’re an under-undercover agent. Tricky.”

“I can handle it.” He shrugs.

“Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t just visit because I miss you?” She mocks.

“You could, but you don’t. And you wouldn’t have ditched David if this was just a social call.”

“Actually, it is just a social call. I’m doing you a favor.”

“What favor?”

“A warning. Mike is retiring so he’s decided that everyone should come down to the beach house in L.A.. He’s sending Travis and Wes down to embarrass you.”

“Ugh, really?”

“Yup. He wants it to be like a family reunion, even Alex and Donna are invited.”

“You’re joking.” He deadpans.

“Nope. They want everyone together one last time before they head off to Europe.” She affirms.

“They’re going to Europe?” He begs, incredulous.

“Yeah. A visit to me and David and then off to Paris.” Eve grimaces.

“Wow. That’s—“

“Terrifying? A little. Consider your whistle blown. Call Wes before he gets here. Say you’ll invite your roommates to the beachhouse. You do not want Harvey, Mike, or Neal in Graceland. They’ll burn it, literally and figuratively.” And it’s so matter-of-fact he almost face-palms again.

“Ah, thanks for the advice Evey. Did they say when?”

“Visit tomorrow, reunion at the week end.” She reports, dutifully.

“Got it. See you then.”

“See you.” She replies, stepping into a possibly-stolen black ‘Maserati Granturismo MC Stradale’: the kind of car her father would take and Harvey would win.

“Love you, drive safe.”  Mike half-joked, hoping she bought or rented it. Then again, he is undercover and can’t pull his badge even if he wants to, so maybe it’s alright.

“Haha, ciao, Baby Boy.” Eve says, pressing a quick peck to his cheek and slipping away, vanishing into the relative darkness of L.A. at midnight. She wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt.

“Ciao.” Sighing, Mike takes the folders and gets back into his car. He rings his older brother.


	2. Making Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title really says it...

The sun is creeping back over the horizon by the time Mike reappears. He walks in and goes straight to the couch, dropping into it with a long sigh.

“Something wrong, Levi?” Paige asks, bemused. He glares a little and flips onto his side, curling into a foetal position. His voice is muffled when he speaks.

“How do you feel about a beachhouse in L.A. and meeting my parents?”

“Are you proposing?”

“I wish.” He grumbles and sits up straight.

“My parents have invited everyone to the beachhouse to celebrate my dad’s retirement. They want everyone there.”

“Just say you’re hung up at work.”

“No-go. If I refuse they’ll just come down here. My father wants us at the beachhouse. He gets what he wants.”

“Ouch, sounds like you had a rough childhood.” She winces, still with a smile.

“Not really. My family are all good people, they’re just really...unorthodox.” He says, making some obscure hand gesture to help elucidate. It doesn’t help.

“How so?” Paige asks, blonde hair falling into her face as she tilts her head at him (he has a sneaking suspicion it’s peroxide, but he’s smart enough to withhold comment).

“Did Briggs tell you someone broke into the house yesterday and trashed my room?”

“What? Are you okay? Who was it?” Paige demands, suddenly alarmed.

“Yeah, it’s fine. It was my cousin; pulling the same kind of prank my uncle is famous for. She was just having a little fun rattling my cage.” His shoulders sag impossibly further as he heaves an obnoxious sigh.

“Wow. If a B&E is her idea of fun…”

“No, it’s alright. She was actually helping me out with something.”

“Who was helping you out with what?” Briggs says, walking up behind Mike. Mike straightens and ducks his head a little.

“The girl who broke in yesterday, sir. She’s my cousin.”

“Your cousin broke in yesterday? “ Johnny says, by way of announcing his presence.

“I thought you said you didn’t have no stories, Levi.” DJ follows, dropping onto the couch next to Mike.

“It’s not really the kind of story you tell a law-enforcement officer, plus, it only happened yesterday.” Mike shoots back.

“What happened yesterday?” Charlie asks, stumbling in through the front door.

“My cousin broke in.” Mike answers.

“Did you get back the file she stole?” Briggs asks.

“She stole a file?” Paige interjects, worried.

“Yeah, it was just some Intel on a possible C.I. and she wasn’t stealing it. She was proving a point.” Mike answers, relaxing(slumping) back into the sofa again.

“What point?” Charlie follows.

“The point that I don’t hide things very well and I need a better lock on my window.”

“Right, so she was just proving a point.” Briggs leads.

“Right.” Mike affirms.

“—by stealing.” Briggs finishes.

“No—ugh. She borrowed it for, like, a second okay? And we’re getting off-topic.” Mike huffs, frustrated.

“What topic?” Johnny asks.

“Mike’s parents are threatening to come visit if we don’t go to their L.A. beachhouse.” Paige supplies, smiling.

“It’s— yeah. That.” Mike sighs again, surrendering.

“Your parents own a beachhouse?” Johnny questions.

“No. They just rent it sometimes so they can visit my older brother.” Mike replies, feeling oddly defensive.

“You have an older brother?” DJ asks.

“Yeah. Wes, short for Wesley.”

“Wesley Warren?” Johnny snorts.

“No, no. Wesley Mitchell.”

“Different last names?” Briggs asks, leaning in, intrigued.

“Different dads.” Mike nods.

“He lives in L.A.?” DJ asks.

“Yeah.”

“How old is he?” Paige asks.

“Thirty years, this April.”

“You’re eight years apart?” Paige asks. Mike shrugs.

“It’s not really noticeable. So, beachhouse? L.A.? This weekend? Please? You gotta help me out.”

“For how long?” Charlie asks.

“A week. My dad is retiring, so they’re heading off to Europe. This might be the last time we see each other for a few years. Please? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

“Well, I’m in. I could use some time off and I’m at a dead end with most of my guys. A week off’ll do me good.” Charlie.

“Yo, me too. I gotta see this beachhouse.” Johnny grins, clapping Levi on the shoulder.

“”Hell, I’m in. Sounds fun.” DJ throws in.

“I’ll go. I kinda wanna see what sort of people it takes to produce a Mike Warren.” Paige laughs, innocuously.

“Thanks. Just one thing, no one in my family calls me ‘Mike’, so it’s gotta be ‘Levi’ or ‘Michael.’”

“Why’s that?” Briggs questions, left brow raising slightly.

“My dad’s name is Michael, too, and everyone calls him ‘Mike’. It gets confusing if there’s two of us.” Mike informs them. They more or less just shrug it off and accept it.

“Hmm, I’m in. Paige is right; I have no idea what kind of people you would need to make someone like you.” Briggs smarms cheekily.

“Thanks, guys. I’m gonna go shower and pass out; I'm exhausted.” Levi calls, dragging a hand through his blonde mess and hauling himself to his feet.

“Later.”Johnny answers him.

“Night, Mike.” Paige follows, and then DJ:

“Night, Levi.” Briggs:

“Night.” And finally, Charlie:

“G’nite, Mike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't dialogue--err-- gluck...*fzzt*  
> Sorrykjgkgdfbkjhdsaf......


End file.
